


And The Rockets

by notablyindigo



Series: It Has Its Costs [1]
Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 13:27:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1900608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notablyindigo/pseuds/notablyindigo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>some things can wait</p>
            </blockquote>





	And The Rockets

**Author's Note:**

> joanbell fest day 4 prompts: escape, moving on, apocalypse, colors abound (+ bonus "sherlock")  
> also fills watson's woes day 4 (poem), albeit somewhat tangentially

Courtesy of the 4th of July, they’re supposed to have a long weekend. The precinct is at bare-bones staffing, and Marcus has been given the day off, but as Sherlock repeatedly reminds them from the back seat of the stake-out car, crime takes no holidays. Particularly not when fireworks (legal or otherwise) provide such a helpful cover for gunshots. 

Joan checks her watch (5:58 PM), and peers through her binoculars out of the heavily tinted windows toward the warehouse they’re watching. No movement yet. But, then again, the tip from Sherlock’s informant was that the hand-off is scheduled to go down at 6:00 PM. So they wait.

They’ve been at it for hours now, on the off chance that their tip was wrong, but so far nothing of note has come through the abandoned shipyard other than a startlingly large flock of pigeons. Marcus has beaten 2048 twice (first the regular version, and then, on Joan’s suggestion, the Beyonce one), and Joan has gone through an entire book of gas station Sudoku. Sherlock, having picked up knitting from Ms. Hudson during a particularly slow week during the winter, has almost finished the scarf he’d started that morning. Joan’s been on a lot of stake-outs, but this has been by far the slowest.

It is a relief when, at 6:00 PM on the dot, a sleek black sedan pulls up to the warehouse and disgorges a pair of almost comically disreputable-looking men. Marcus reaches for his radio, calls in the cops in the squad car parked around the corner, and the whole thing is wrapped up in ten minutes. 

"You broke my nose!" one of the detained men protests as Marcus muscles him into the back of the squad car. 

"Shouldn’t have run," Marcus replies, and shuts the door behind him. He looks up at Gregson, who is standing on the opposite side of the car. "I can take these two down to booking," he offers, but Gregson shakes his head. 

"This was supposed to be your day off," he says, waving Marcus off. "Get out of here. I’m sure I can find someone else to unload these dirtbags on." When Marcus hesitates, Gregson sighs. "For God’s sake, Bell, there’s got to be something you can do with your evening that’s more interesting than filing booking paperwork. Read a book, catch the parade, maybe spend time with someone who isn’t a violent criminal…" Gregson trails off when Sherlock appears at his elbow with some question about the fate of the exotic birds that had been confiscated from the suspects, and Marcus finds his gaze drawn to Joan.

Spend time with someone who isn’t a violent criminal. Well, she had had that complaint filed against her from when she’d performed a citizen’s arrest with her baton, but the guy had ended up booked for eight years on conspiracy charges, so it hardly counted, right?

Marcus walks up to where she’s exchanging pleasantries with one of the officers on the stake-out team. 

"Hey," she says, turning towards him.

"Hey," he replies, suddenly nervous. Joan looks up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun with a cupped hand.

"Some Fourth of July," she says, grinning. 

"Well, we got our red white and blue right there," Marcus retorts, gesturing with his chin towards the still-flashing lights on top of the squad cars. "And we did have that weird apple pie-flavored gum earlier, so I’d say we fulfilled our patriotic duty." Joan laughs and glances at the sky.

"Well, at least it’s a nice day. I hear the Carolinas are getting drenched by that hurricane." She pauses. "Should be a perfect evening for watching the fireworks show." 

Fireworks. Of course. Marcus sees his in, and takes it.

"I don’t suppose you’d want—"

"Watson!" Foiled. 

They both turn toward the direction from which Sherlock had bellowed and find him approaching them at a rapid stride. He stops at Joan’s side.

"As it is a holiday, the animal control office is unable to take possession of the birds these gentlemen were trading. I have, as such, volunteered to take them into our home until such a time as they can be appropriately housed elsewhere." Sherlock looks at Joan expectantly. 

"They had seven parrots," Marcus says, bemused. 

"Congo African Greys," Sherlock corrects. "I"m quite looking forward to assessing their vocabularies." Joan groans. 

"As if Romulus and Remus weren’t enough," she says, exasperated. Marcus is tempted to ask who, exactly, Romulus and Remus are, but can tell by her tone that it’s probably a subject best avoided. 

"Watson, the African Grey has a capacity for learning hundreds of words," Sherlock says, somewhat impatiently. Joan looks at Marcus and then back at Sherlock.

"I’m going to go watch the fireworks," she says.

"But—"

"Marcus is coming too." Marcus starts briefly, and has to work very hard to keep from cheering outloud. 

"We could do any of a number of fascinating experiments with these creatures while they are in our care," Sherlock protests.

"The world won’t come to an end if I miss one day of parrot training," Joan says, and her voice carries the finality of her decision. She turns to Marcus. "Know any good spots to see the show from?" she asks, and Marcus can’t help but break into a grin.

"I can think of a few."


End file.
